


War rations

by Kit



Series: Food and story [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Annette knows best, Black Eagles Mercedes von Martriz, Epistolary, F/F, Ferdinand is perhaps misunderstood, Ferdinand/Mercedes A support, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Long-Distance Relationship, Mid-Time Skip, Mutual Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), jam sables, letters to Glenn, locks of hair and other sappy things, postage delays, prickly cactus children, reluctant soldiers, resolving sexual tension via post, the bisexual haircut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24124261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit/pseuds/Kit
Summary: "I want to write words you can taste (and food you can taste, too. I hope my wrapping protects these sweets in their journey to Galatea). I want youfull, want to see you sated and comfortable without a care in the world. But it isn’t possible, or quite fair. I know you are proud of your cares."Scattered after the annexation of Monastery and Byleth's disappearance, Garreg Mach's former students resort to letters. Mercedes, writing from Fhirdiad and feeling very alone after her defection to the Black Eagles, is unsettled by reports of Dimitri's coronation. A follow-up toFood and Storywith schemes, ink blots, epistolary flirting, and possibly the end of the world.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Mercedes von Martritz
Series: Food and story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740682
Comments: 48
Kudos: 28





	1. Great Tree Moon, 1181

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemonsharks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsharks/gifts).



**Great Tree Moon 7, 1181**

Dear Hubert,

Are you quite all right, dear? Surely, you just did your best to be oblique and ask me to spy in Fhirdiad! I’m not entirely sure you know what a merchant’s adopted daughter _does_ , in times of near war, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very useful at all. I also will not do it. I know you think my friendships with the Blue Lions might be—what was your word? Expedient? —but I would rather use your Swarm spell on them than spy, and you know how I feel about that swarm spell. If I had been invited to attend Dimitri’s coronation, I would have refused. You will get no more from me than you would from a shop girl on the streets of the capital.

In case you’ve had a long day and it needs repeating: I shall, of course, come to you if Edelgard needs bodies or healing. There are others in the Black Eagles better suited to subterfuge, and even better placed. I don’t have nearly as much movement as either of us would like.

Please remember to drink enough water.

Mercedes

* * *

**Great Tree Moon 12, 1181**

Dearest Annie,

Thank you so much for your letter. I miss you, too, and not seeing all of you at the coronation hurt; not as much as the event itself, by all accounts. Ashe also wrote, and I’m worried about you all. I don’t know what will happen. Who _can_ know? The professor might have, but they’re gone, lost under all the dust and mess of that horrible last day. It makes me shiver. ~~I think of great gashes in the earth, and the two of us on different sides, and—just stay safe, if you can?~~

Your father was at the coronation. That must have been a very loud and tangled sort of feeling. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, because I know it would have eased some hurt in a very stern man to be of service to his king, and that ease might have passed on to you. I also just want to hug you. Do let me know the next time you’re in the city? I understand it wasn’t quite right for us all to meet – not after Dimitri’s coronation, with everyone still so upset and raw – but you know I’ll always be there for you, don’t you?

These cookies aren’t as good as the ones we made at the Monastery, but they keep better. If I don’t hear a song about letter sweets one of these days I’ll be quite disappointed. So would Felix, I’m sure! Alas, Dominic and Fraldarius lands are too far apart for him to keep ‘stumbling’ on the great musician at work, the way he always tended. Don’t scrunch up your face like that. You’ll get wrinkles Adorable ones, but you’ll still be cross about them. 

Knowing that you’re out in the world, and that there are still silly songs, is a joy.

All my love,

Your Mercie

* * *

**Great Tree Moon 14, 1181**

Dear Ashe,

Do stop apologising, sweet boy! We both know it would not be the thing at all for me to attend Dimitri right now. There were a lot of hurt feelings at the end of the year and I know everyone is just doing the best they can. That’s all I’m doing, too.

You know I joined the Black Eagles for my own reasons. They still exist. But I’m not going to rub salt in His Majesty’s wounds by pretending everything is just the same. I think he has had too much of that. Though I am glad he has people like you and Dedue with him to ground him – I’m still unsettled by his reaction to the Emperor. I know, it was _such_ a day. But this city has people who need looking after more than it needs anyone’s heads on pikes.

In case you wonder, those are exactly the words I’d tell E, too, given half a chance. But honestly, I’m dreaming, here. Writing to you in the back of the storeroom, all over dust. We have a shipment coming in from Sreng. I’m hardly in a place to give advice to _any_ royalty.

Have you heard from your siblings, Ashe? If they’re in the city, I’ll look out for them. Also, please do have a look at this recipe and tell me what I’m doing wrong? I do not understand how I can make a perfectly respectable pastry and completely fail at the filling. You use the chilies whole, yes?

Goodness, this has been a ramble of a letter. I miss you. I miss all of you, of course, but the thing I miss most about you is your quiet. Your brave and solid quiet and the way you always had time for all of us, even Sylvain at his most ridiculous and Felix at his surliest and me, when I was trying to help and never quite getting anything as right as I wanted. You know how to make a space, and then stay there. It’s a gift.

Love,

Mercedes.

* * *

**Great Tree Moon 18, 1181**

Dorothea,

Truth be told, I don’t quite know how to respond to your letter. I am touched and honoured that you would share such heaviness with me, and yet even as I write this I can see the face you’re making now.

‘Ugh, There she goes again, being all saintly.’

Am I wrong?

Dorothea, I dream of it, too. Every shadow can feel like a foretelling, and Edelgard and was fierce and unwavering and _absolutely frightening._

I was frightened. Absolutely. None of us had any idea, after all, after she and Hubert and the Professor went away for a week. I was too busy panicking about my B+-level Archery exam, and the professor’s insistence that I might be good at shooting people. You might have known a little more than I, being thicker with Edelgard, but we both know she keeps secrets closer than people, and the professor is—was—is?—an absolute nightmare to read.

I think about those archery exams often.

I think about all those horrible days Hubert would drag you and me out for extra training, and the way Death spells taste. There are good things, too—it felt _wonderful_ when you showed me how to really work with fire, and do you remember the time we surprised Hubert with a sleep spell ambush? The look on his face when he woke up is something I’ll treasure. That _smile._

See. Even now, I dart away from the horrible things. The fear. The sweat and dirt and the sound Edelgard made when the professor vanished. Rhea, avatar of a Goddess I have always loved, spitting and vicious and such a frail, poisoned thing who can do nothing but destroy. I know that I’ll heal and fight in any war Edelgard shapes and that makes me sick with fear. I worry about betrayal. I don’t want to hurt my friends. You or Annette or Hubert. Ashe or Lin. Poor, tired Edelgard or poor, tired Dimitri. I wake up mourning lives not yet taken. I think about Ingrid, so stalwart and dedicated to her King, and I don’t know what I’ll do if all parties can’t reach an accord. I think: _we were all children together_. Yes, even me, and I know it’s silly. You would be the first to tell me how children are cruel, and yet here we both are, grieving in advance.

War is horrible, Dorothea. You’re allowed to both dread it _and_ still fight. We can be contradictory together, if you’d like. It’s _all_ right that you’re scared, and that so much of it is inchoate and ugly and impossible to turn into song.

And, in case you need it in writing: Dorothea Arnault. You are no coward. I am honoured to know you.

M.

* * *

**Great Tree Moon 23, 1181**

Ingrid,

I’ve been writing many letters this month. My hand aches from too much clenching; my adopted father is making a fuss about the wasted ink.

Every day, I think of a new sentence I might write to you. New words I might give up smooth, flat river stones, perfect for skipping. I want to write words you can taste – food you can taste, too. I hope my wrapping protects these sweets in their journey to Galatea. I want you _full_ , want to see you sated and comfortable without a care in the world. But it isn’t possible, or quite fair. I know you are proud of your cares. You are good and strong and people rely on you, and those are all right things, so long as no one person or worry overburdens you _too_ much. Though again, I’m being silly. Of course you will care too much. I know you’ve been at Dimitri’s side, offering aid, strength. Sylvain said you were heading back to Galatea now, to re-join your father after witnessing the coronation, so I hope this letter meets you there. 

I don’t know if it can bring you any joy—ravens may eat the gift, after all, and you might not want to hear from me, after that last day. If you wish, I’ll not write you again. I will still _care_ , deep and sweet as those kisses in the Goddess Tower, but I would not add to your burdens for all the kisses in the world. Even the one you gave me after you heard about my last archery exam. That was a rather spectacular kiss, and so dear to me. You gave me luck, my knight.

Still, no more talk of such things until you write back and say they’re welcome. If they’re not, if you never answer, then just know that, out of all the choices I’ve made in the world, caring for you is the one without any smudge of regret. We made lovely promises to each other, and your deciding not to bruise yourself with me on one side of Dimitri and Edelgard’s war does not mean you’re breaking them. What you gave was generous and wonderful, and it can be enough.

You are always enough. Thank you for some lovely dances.

Mercedes.


	2. Harpstring Moon, 1181

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid does her best. Yearning, paperwork, and dubious sartorial choices follow.

**Great Tree Moon 30 1181**

~~Dear Mercedes~~

* * *

**Harpstring Moon 9 1181**

Felix, you know I always want more letters from you but if you’re going to write like a drunken spider than I don’t know how you’d expect a meaningful reply. Then again, that could be what you’re hoping for: I’ll write Ingrid so she won’t nag me, but be damned if I say anything meaningful? And it’ll be more all over the place than Sylvain’s room.

Scowl. Smirk. Scoff. 

Honestly, it’s as if you and Dimitri are having a competition over illegibility. We _all_ had the same tutors, and you’re not the sort to shuffle and blame big manly hands for the whole affair.

I didn’t actually start this letter to nag. I wanted to say thank you for—well. You were at dinner. Your support meant a lot ~~. I don’t think Lord Edwin will approach me now, which is far easier and safer than actually saying no.~~

Has the Margrave ordered Sylvain to Sreng yet? I know there’s been talk. _You_ know how blasted evasive he gets. This is a long and strange year and we’re barely out of Great Tree Moon. I don’t know why. The whole of last year feels as if it were amputated just after a fever set in. I’m still reaching. We’re all still the same, except Dimitri is _King_ now, and with the Lady Rhea so close. It’s proper the Archbishop be offered sanctuary, of course, but I can’t forget how the coronation turned so quickly to talk of Edelgard. There was so little joy, and very little of the _Goddess,_ somehow? Ugh. I don’t mean to be impious—not that you care about such things—but it wasn’t what any of us imagined, was it?

I know, this is all high and silly nonsense and you think I’m a fool. Don’t bother saying it, unless you can do so with better handwriting. I don’t know what I’m saying, really. Just that I wish we’d been able to all finish out the year together. That we could see each other every day again instead of at strained dinner parties at my father’s half-empty table. I wish he would stop, Felix. I’ll do my duty, but if he beggars us in the attempt, what will it have all been for?

Mercedes wrote to me. I’m not quite sure what to do.

Stay safe.

Ingrid.

* * *

**Harpstring Moon 9 1181**

~~Mercedes, I don’t know how~~

* * *

**Harpstring Moon 14 1181**

Dear Ingrid,

This is a bit of a nothing of a letter. Sorry! I’m on my way to Fraldarius, so I’ll probably see you at one of Rodrigue’s meetings before heading back to my Uncle and I could just hand this over like a sensible person, but everyone likes something nice by post, you know? Maybe I’ll have a new letter for you to give you then, if you write back to this one really, really fast. I can’t even remember what I was going to say in this one, though, so scheming up letters in advanced seems like heaps of fun but might be unachievable. I _did_ find a Pegasus feather, though. Wild and perfect, not like the creatures at Garreg Mach who let us put saddles on them. By us, I mean you. I still don’t know how you do it. I’d much rather use a fireball and my own two feet.

But I saw this feather, and isn’t it the loveliest grey? Stormclouds! If you catch all your stormclouds in that, then maybe the weather will be kind this year!

Here’s hoping!

Annette.

PS: It’s Mercie’s birthday coming up! I know you’re better at remembering things like that than Felix or Sylvain, so you probably already know, but just in case… it’s Harpstring 27. -A.

* * *

**Harpstring Moon 27 1881**

~~Dear Mercedes. It’s your birthday. Not by the time you get this, of course, but I’m writing this _on_~~ …[blot]. ~~~~

~~I am so angry with you. You were surprised as all of us when Edelgard attacked? Why, if you were in the Black Eagles House, would you be so unaware of what your leader was doing? And don’t you see? We’ll all fight, Mercedes. That isn’t~~ …[blot]

 ~~How can you kiss me like that and say you’re expecting me to stay away?~~ [smudge]

* * *

**Blue Sea Moon 1881**

Dear Glenn,

It’s been years since I’ve written like this. I know. But writing you letters when I was younger was more than composition and handwriting practice, no matter what anyone said. I’m glad no one can read those letters now, full as they were with my fluttering attempts at expressing feelings I wasn’t ready for yet, but I’m glad you did. You were kind. You wrote back.

And then you died, and sometimes I still write, because talking to you out loud would look mad. This _is_ probably mad, but now you’re not here to judge me, and if you were, you would have written back anyway, no matter how silly I was.

You wrote about all sorts of things. A new book. Stories about Felix. Notes about my grip strength. You used to ask about my favourite horses. By name. I don’t believe I ever thanked you for that. Not properly. You made it too natural, as if all the notes were just part of a life together. I wanted that life.

I…have someone, now. Someone who’d write back if I asked. I need to write back first. She isn’t a knight, but she’s strong, and she’s made choices that make me want to shout, but she kissed me the way you used to write. Which isn’t a sentence at all, but she made it _natural_ , Glenn, and she has soft eyes and gentle hands and her breasts are astonishing and I am going to tear this letter into tiny pieces before I burn it, but she makes me want to write back, even though I shouldn’t. Not because she made choices but because there’ll be _worse_ choices, later. I’m afraid. As usual.

I can’t ask what you would do, Glenn, because I hardly think I’d survive even your imaginary answer. All I know is that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life, or hers, writing letters for empty space.

 ~~Your~~ Ingrid.

* * *

**Red Wolf Moon 15 1881**

~~Dear Mercedes,~~

~~I’ve heard the Knights of Seiros are a loud presence in Fhirdiad. Are you all right? Should I even ask that? I can’t imagine you wouldn’t be safe from the Church’s army, you being you, but I can’t help but remember. Lonato loved the Goddess, too.~~

~~I can’t send this. I’m…ugh.~~ [blot]

* * *

**Etherial Moon 27 1882**

~~Dear Mercedes,~~

~~It’s two hours past midnight, and I missed your birthday by so much that now it’s nearly mine.~~

* * *

**Guardian Moon 5 1882**

Dear Sylvain,

Keep warm, you fool. I don’t know what your father has you doing on the border, but father’s men have had good hunting, so you’re getting a cloak out of it. Dimitri’s getting one, too. We dyed his blue, for extra kingliness, as Claude might say. I think about him sometimes. He got under my skin almost much as you and Felix do, you terrors. Word is that Derdriu is a mess of schemes and infighting. Maybe you can remember that when you’re stuck on the edge of the map.

I hope you can pass through Galatea on your way back. I miss you, though if you make any huddling for warmth jokes in your reply I shall disown you immediately.

Love, Ingrid.

* * *

**Guardian Moon 18 1882**

Dear Ingrid,

You must thank all the workers and hunters on Galatea. This cloak is wonderful! Felix was here recently, and he laughed, but that almost feels like a recommendation. I haven’t smiled as much since I don’t know when.

On a more serious note, you’ll be receiving a summons shortly. Please do come, stuffy formal language notwithstanding. I need allies at my side. Allies and friends. I’ll be recalling Sylvain from his father’s duties shortly, on the Archbishop’s recommendation. 

D.

* * *

**Guardian Moon 22 1882**

**To King Dimitri of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus from Ingr. Br. Galatea:**

Your Majesty, I have to ask: are you all right? It’s just a cloak! Of course, I’ve already answered the summons. Expect me shortly. 

Ingrid.

* * *

**Pegasus Moon 1 1882**

Dear Mercedes ~~…~~

Thank you for your letter. I’m in Fhirdiad for the month, and the idea that you’re only a few blocks from the palace won’t get out of my head. I’ve tried to write back so many times, but find that words keep dying up. Unlike ink, which then goes every where. I haven’t wanted to send you a mess. And I’ve been angry, because that last week at Monastery changed from something unspeakably lovely to chaotic and miserable almost as quick as life changes to death, and that scares me stupid. Feelings tend to scare me stupid. And now it’s taken me so long to write back that this letter will cause much more mess than I wanted and then _you_ won’t write back, and—

\--if you were here, and I was talking like this, you’d tell me to hush. I can almost feel you, maybe pressing a cup of tea into my hands in one of our old rooms. Maybe you’d ghost your fingers across my lips. The heartbeat in my throat. You are easier with touch than most people I know, far easier than me, and I—

\--I miss you. ~~I think war is coming. And~~ I miss you.

I don’t know if I can continue a particular friendship. I don’t know how to go on, especially placed as we are, ~~but even if you never write back—even if you~~ _ ~~do~~_ ~~write back and we don’t talk about this again, I just wanted to say…~~

…ugh, please don’t mind me. But…we can write, if you still want to. I’m sorry I took so long.

Ingrid Brandl Galatea.


	3. Pegasus Moon, 1182

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes is honest, Ferdinand is dubious, Ingrid continues to do her best, and bisexual haircuts abound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to the glorious being [who put the Three Houses calendar into Google drive. ](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/10hfn8pf61kdvO3gXePlL4Ct9DZxRJMv0oTrh2VAqNDc/edit#gid=0/)

**Pegasus Moon 7, 1182**

Dear Ingrid,

Thank you so much for writing. I know it’s not the same thing as dropping by each other’s rooms every day, but it is always lovely to hear you. I can, you know. You write beautifully. I am very lucky in my correspondent!

It’s rather nice that you’ve written in Pegasus Moon. It fits you very well, I think. ~~I don’t know what has happened to all the beasts at Garreg Mach, but I’m sure Cyril is still there, and—blast.~~

Please forgive the mess! It’s a little cramped where I’m writing, and I’m all elbows. I’ve spent most of this week sorting inventory at the shop, which is both a little bit fascinating and entirely dull. Did you know I can weigh sacks of lentils by sight? My mother will be very surprised. She’s still with the Church. Not too far from the city, but it feels like miles some days. Did you know that? I’m not sure I ever told you about the arrangements with my adopted father, but I always did want to make sure she was left alone. She’s been through too much for any one person, just like so many of us.

I don’t know if this makes you feel any better of me, but she is part of the reason I changed houses. I didn’t have the words for it in person and I certainly don’t have many of them on paper, but…Lamine has done her few favours, and trapped her in very dark corners. Edelgard’s future doesn’t have Crests in it, and that is unspeakably good to me, Ingrid. Can’t you imagine it? We _have_ imagined something like, once or twice over tea. A world where you didn’t have to use Daphnel to hold up your family’s prospects, a world where boys like my brother aren’t born and lost. You could follow any cause or person you wished, my knight, and surely that is a little exciting. I know you have much stronger loyalty to your family traditions than I have ever had. It’s always made me a little wistful.

I don’t expect you to agree with me on this and perhaps we’ll never talk about it, but I did so want you to know a little more of my reasons. It isn’t just for my own fragmented family or Edelgard’s slightly bruised ideals. I think Dimitri can be a marvellous and very kind King, too. But should anyone? What is Kingship outside of stories, Ingrid? ~~What is a Church that sells daughters?~~ Why does a Church train officers for war? I will always be grateful for the home I was given, but I have to wonder: if my mother and I were Crestless, would the door be open as warm, or as wide? I have always hoped so, but even I can’t keep going on hope alone.

I am all questions and no answers.

It’s not a perfect world, the one Edelgard promises. Is any? But it is a world where I think I can do more good than harm or neglect, and if I have _that_ choice, well…

You were so brave, writing to me when you felt conflicted, and now I’ve rewarded that bravery with all of this ridiculousness. I am sorry. But you’ve known me so well, and I do want you to know the rest, if you’ll have it.

As for particular friendship—and isn’t _that_ a lovely phrase!—I completely understand. It’s far too easy to get tangled up in one’s feelings as it is. You already know I cherish our time at the monestary, but I would cherish any space with you in it even if we’d never so much as kissed. I like your warmth, Ingrid. I like your warmth and your storyteller mind, and the way you look after your friends, even when we don’t deserve it. I like that you work hard and argue and the way you turn any meal into a feast, because you know the effort it took to make it and set it down before you. I like you very well, Ingrid Brandl Galatea, no matter what we become to each other.

Your friend

Mercedes.

* * *

**Pegasus Moon 7, 1182**

Dearest Annie

She wrote back she wrote back she wrote back!

~~(She just wants to be friends and I think I spoiled even that because I tried to explain too much but Annie, Annie she _wrote back._ ~~

Come see me soon? Please?

Mercie.

* * *

**Pegasus Moon 26, 1182**

Dear Duke Aegir,

It was a surprise to see you! Of course, you were doing a very fine job with the black cloak. It was very stealthy. Ominous, even. Annette and I had quite the fright, which I would like to think isn’t your intention, but perhaps you should consult with Hubert before trying stealth.

Or even Caspar.

Mercedes.

PS. Don’t you dare do that again.

* * *

**Pegasus Moon 26, 1182**

Mercie,

_What_ a day. It was horrible to leave you. I wish you could come back with me. That was Ferdinand talking to your father’s steward. It had to be! All the hand waving and the stuffiness. But why wouldn’t he stay and talk to you? You’re in the same house. We were drinking _tea_. That was somehow both spooky and ridiculous and I don’t like it one bit. Can you believe he and Lorenz are friends? Actually, I _can_ believe he and Lorenz are friends. They’re perfect for each other. Ugh.

You know, a part of me wishes we’d never gone to the academy. We could have graduated the School of Sorcery and set up an orphanage somewhere. A nice one. We’d use my dowry and you’d sell healing spells and there’d be cake every day until everyone was round. Wouldn’t that just be the best? Mama could live with us and you’d never have to talk to your father if you didn’t want and—

\--oh. I know. I’m being sappy and silly, just like when I was jealous of you and Ingrid back at the Garreg Mach. We had all those silly arguments and I don’t even know what I wanted – I still don’t.

Father is very Gilbert right now. You’re right. That’s the easiest way to describe him. I don’t think Dimitri’s noticed how hard he’s trying, which is strange, because the one person who tries harder than Father is usually Dimitri, but it’s as if he thinks Edelgard’s going to pop out of the cupboard.

She’s not, is she? She and Hubert do have that teleport spell.

I’m still very proud of you for doing what you think is right. I’m going to keep saying it.

Love forever

Annette.

* * *

**Lone Wolf Moon 3, 1182**

**TO THE LADY MERCEDES VON MARTRIZ FROM HIS GRACE, DUKE FERDINAND VON AEGIR**

Dear Mercedes,

I am afraid you must be mistaken. There is no way I could possibly have been in Fhirdiad anywhere close to the time of your last letter. My new duties as Prime Minister of an unsettled Empire make sure of it. I am of course deeply saddened that you and Annette experienced a shock. Please, accept this calming tea as a gift of friendship.

My sincerest regards,

FERDINAND VON AEGIR

* * *

**Lone Wolf Moon 10, 1182**

Annie-my-love,

That orphanage sounds a little bit marvelous right now. Running away doesn’t fix anything, of course, but we’d make a wonderful story out of it. I haven’t heard back from Ingrid and there are far too many arrangements coming to my door. Flowers. Proposals. I suppose I should tell my father that I changed houses – it would certainly make me less eligible to Fhirdiad nobility! – but he has never noticed and I somehow don’t think it would change much. The one thing more mortifying than writing to Ferdinand about why he was at the house would be having _him_ write to Ferdinand and inviting him back, don’t you think? Ludicrous, of course, but…ooof. Let’s go. Let’s run into a very domestic, very impossible future where we have no fathers and no Kings and no Emperors in cupboards.

Also, I don’t think the telepathy spell is precise enough for a cupboard. I know Dimitri probably has very big ones, but still.

Oh, I hope I didn’t offend Ingrid too badly. I feel uncertain and strange a little bit raw. Thank you for listening to me. You have always read in a very listening way, you know.

Love, Mercie

* * *

**Lone Wolf Moon 15, 1182**

Mercedes,

I received your note. I have no idea what you expect me to do with this tea. It is not poison.

Just.

Vestra

**Note**. I trust you are still exploring your own abilities? You should be ready. I have also enclosed a late addition note from Linhardt, who is currently in Enbart and underfoot. - H

* * *

**Lone Wolf Moon 18, 1182**

Dear Linhardt,

No, I’m afraid a blood sample would not be appropriate at all. Besides, dear, you know as well as I do that it would hardly keep. Unless you’re studying coagulants (or is it decay? Surely you should start with something a little smaller first? Perhaps fruit?) I can’t see how would be useful.

You might be reading this and thinking, well, of course _I_ don’t see the point of it, since you’re the one doing the studying, but if you’re so very interested in samples, please at least come for tea first. I know Fhirdiad isn’t so convenient to Hevring, but research does take sacrifices!

* * *

**Great Tree Moon 1, 1182**

Dear Mercedes

You keep writing letters that make me forget how to speak. Well. Write. You know I mean.

See what I mean?

I know, it’s been months, and if I were you I’d be biting off all my fingernails and thinking I’d written to the rudest person alive, but father has needed help on the estate and—well. I was procrastinating.

I’ll repay your honesty with my own more boring kind. I’ve written letters all my life. It’s not exactly easy to go visiting calls in snowfall, and Duke Rodrigue used to drag Glenn and Felix to all sorts of places. Dimitri only visited Fraldarius in summer with his parents, and Galatea’s got its own terrain. Easier to get word out by paper and messenger, and they’d mean something you could keep, too. Safer than memory. This nice hand of mine? Bashed into me by mixture of a wizened old tutor and sheer bloody-mindedness. I would show those boys that real knights didn’t only hit each other with big sticks. Not that I mind big sticks, but whenever we had lessons together they’d all just moan and fidget and it was unbearably slow. So I showed them up. Not that they cared, but strange things are important when you’re eight.

I hope you do get to know the story of your brother, Mercedes. It’s hard for me to say “I hope you get that future!” because I just cannot see how the world you imagine has my friends in it, and that isn’t something I can swallow, but I want there to _be_ a future, for both of us. You can’t be right, a part of me says, and that’s the part that has sworn vows to Fhirdiad again and again as I grew taller and the gap closed in my teeth, but you’re somehow not wrong, either ~~. Because if I were male, we might marry, and my father would shake my hand for it. If you were male, he’d see your crest and your adopted father’s merchant wealth and shake _you_ by the hand, and sometimes I know why Sylvain is the way he is, because thinking like that is very small and nasty. It’s also all-consuming~~.

I can’t talk about it now, but I might later.

All that boasting about my pretty handwriting and I have to black out half a page! That’s what I get for showing off.

I think I’m going to cut my hair. I never have, you know. Something I read about maidens right around the time Glenn grew attractive enough to make my child-heart deeply uncomfortable. But it’s hot and heavy and a nightmare to keep under a helmet.

My mother used to brush it, too. But I think all the strands she touched have long since fallen out. It’s a new day. A different year. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, except that you’d probably help me out, which would be useful, and probably almost fun.

Thank you for writing to me.

Your friend,

Ingrid.

* * *

**Great Tree Moon 6, 1182**

Dear Ingrid,

A longer letter to follow, but I had to write at once because you were _spooky_. I hope you like these ribbons. I think this is a lovely green for you. I have no excuse for the lock of hair I’ve sent with them, but I had _just_ had it all off when your letter came. I can feel air on the back of my neck! It’s almost scandalous. Go forth! Do dramatic things! I’m sure you will be marvelous.

Your friend,

Mercedes


	4. Garland Moon, 1183

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions mount in Dimitri's court. Mercedes fails to find her brother. Another year passes. Ingrid and Mercedes explore the limit of words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is borderline E from the second last letter onwards. Ingrid was surprisingly insistent.

**Harpstring Moon 5, 1183**

Dear Mercedes,

The person of whom you write is only one thing to me: valued general, melodramatic name not withstanding. I don’t have his history in my pocket. If the man has life beyond the present moment, I know nothing of it. Unless you need someone killed, I doubt he’ll respond to any communication in either a prompt or comprehensible way. Still, you’re welcome to try.

Thank you for your service.

EvH

* * *

**Harpstring Moon 18, 1183**

~~Dear Jeritza…no, that’s not it~~

~~Dear Emile~~

~~Dear~~

* * *

**Garland Moon 1, 1183**

Dear Ingrid,

Two years since Garreg Mach. No one’s been back there, though Dorothea wrote and told me once that she imagines Edelgard haunting the old hallways, waiting for the professor to return. I like ghost stories, even sad ones, but that puts a lump in my throat.

I keep starting letters to so many people and not knowing how to finish them. You. Sylvain and Felix, though they’re terrible at writing back. Ashe. I miss that sweet boy. I have a book for you with this letter. He might read it when you’re done –it’s the adventures of a Kingdom knight in _Dagda_ , so I hope it is thrilling—but you get to read it first.

Your friend

Mercedes

* * *

**Blue Sea Moon 25, 1183**

Dear Ashe, 

i have a book for you from Mercedes. I'll give it to you soon -- perhaps the at the next meeting in Fhirdiad, if you're there? -- but I'm going to have to read it a few more times first. There is ship fighting! Actual ship fighting! And one of the heroes is a woman disguised as a man, and it's--Ashe, you will love it. Are you still trying to coax Dedue out of the palace grounds for lunch? It's not an easy task you've given yourself, but if there's any way to show love, it's feeding people. I'm sorry if that was out of line. I have a lot of silliness on my mind these days, when I'm not tearing my hair out worrying about what we're all supposed to do next.

Can I ask you something? Daft thing to put in a letter, of course, since you're not here to say yes or no, but...

if you knew, for certain-sure ~~**that you wanted Dedue**~~...that you cared about someone, but he was in another house or country or had family obligations. You knew all that, but you also knew he wanted you right back, would you do anything about it? 

I know, I'm being vague and awful, but I have to ask you because you'd put your brother and sister before anything, the same way I'll put my family, but...we're both allowed to be more than that, aren't we? Sometimes.

Please burn this letter. 

Yours ever, 

Ingrid. 

* * *

**Verdant Wind Moon 4, 1183**

Dear Ingrid, 

Um. I think I understand what you're saying? Maybe? I'll talk to you at the meeting. I think we both need tea. I'm excited about the book!

Ashe.

* * *

**Verdant Rain Moon 6, 1183**

Dear Felix,

I can’t believe you were so rude. I expected you to be _rude_ , but that was beyond anything.

…are you all right? I know things are tense. I don’t agree with Rhea’s role in proceedings either. I think His Majesty defers too easily. Even Dedue is worried. But Felix, did did you actually help anyone? Were you trying to?

Love, Ingrid.

* * *

**Verdant Rain Moon 6, 1183**

Dear Felix,

Don’t reply if you don’t want to. Glower at the paper and mutter about interfering chits whatever it is you do on a Tuesday by yourself, but everyone at that meeting was cross and out of line, and _no one_ should shout at you that way. Not even Dimitri. And I love the Goddess about as much as a good Faerghan girl is meant to (it’d be nice if she were _there_ , and she inspires good songs!) but I don’t think Lady Rhea is speaking for anyone except herself when she makes suggestions like _that_ , so…well. Well and so!

I just wanted to tell you that, since I didn’t get a chance during all the shouting.

Annette.

* * *

**Verdant Rain Moon 17, 1183**

Dear Felix,

What is going on? Did you seriously break a chair? Did Rhea magic you and Dimitri to separate sides of the room? Did she _seriously_ suggest dropping the recruiting age to 12? I never thought I’d be glad I’m in the blasted wilderness, but damn. Blizzards are looking very comfortable right now.

Sylvain

P.S. Seriously, I am almost— _almost_ —prepared to marry if it gets me out of Sreng. ~~How about it, Fe?~~

* * *

**Verdant Rain Moon 8, 1183**

Ingrid,

If you’re so ‘careful’, don’t write about cabinet meetings. My thoughts are on public record, but a good and brave knight probably shouldn’t talk about the Boar that way. I know you care, but stop being such a sanctimonious prig.

Felix.

* * *

**Verdant Rain Moon 10, 1183**

Dear Annette,

I save my glowering for Fridays. And stop talking about important political events in letters. Everyone has been sending me all their thoughts, and it’s as ridiculously risky as it is asinine. Still. I got your letter and the various messages it was meant to convey.

~~Thank you. You’re…surprisingly kind.~~

Yours

Felix.

* * *

**Verdant Rain Moon 29, 1183**

To Margrave Gautier

Sir,

If you allow it, Sylvain would be useful in Fraldarius for the harvest.

Yours etc

F H F.

* * *

**Verdant Rain Moon 29, 1183**

Dear Sylvain,

Don’t say I never do anything for you.

F.

* * *

**Verdant Rain Moon 30, 1183**

Dear Mercedes,

Do you ever feel like you can’t get anything right, no matter how hard you try? You’ve always known how to talk to people. How to _listen_ to people. I don’t have that. I just blunder on and sometimes something wonderful happens. Most of the time? I’m a sanctimonious prig who doesn’t know when to step in or when to stay out.

I don’t mean to be gloomy. There’ve been a few too many late nights with my own thoughts. Father and I rattle around the place like two marbles left behind in childhood. When I’m not at Galatea, I’m trying to help His Majesty, which is about as challenging as it ever was, only we’re older and bigger and crankier. A lot happens in three years.

I think about Dorothea sometimes, you know. She was kind to me, especially when she and the professor helped me with that terrible marriage proposal that sent me to _Ailell_ of all places. She was splendid. Pushed the man into a sinkhole full of lava. Looking back, she may have been flirting with me? I never know when it’s actually happening, and, well. I was thinking about a lot of things, then. Things, and people, and…well… ~~you~~ you know. It’s a lot easier in books.

But when I look back on Ailell like it’s a book…I think she was flirting.

I am officially too embarrassed to finish this letter. But I wish you were here with me.

Your friend

Ingrid

P.S. I read the book! I haven’t passed it on to Ashe yet, even though I told him I would weeks ago, because I’m selfishly hoarding it and re-reading passages.

* * *

**Horsebow Moon 2, 1183**

Dear Ingrid

Hey now! Don’t talk about my friend that way. She is _not_ a sanctimonious prig. She is serious and sweet and cares about her friends and sometimes word slip and twist and are generally disagreeable. They are for me, too, you know. Sometimes people tell me I’m kind or good at listening and I wonder, would they think that if they saw all the dusting I need to do in my own head? Sometimes it’s as if I’m seeing myself from up high and I think: Goddess! I am such a fraud! It is queer and unsettling.

I heard once that the worlds in people’s heads match their living space and you’ve _seen_ the state of my drawers, Ingrid, so don’t you dare say anything mean about yourself. We are all just doing our best to live, and your best has always been wonderful.

I’m sorry things have been gruesome. I know you probably can’t tell me much, but I’m glad you could reach out as far as you have, and if you tell me who called you names then I’ll give them an even sterner talking to than the one I just gave you – along with something unexpected and slimy. I’ve learned all sorts of things. When I joined Black Eagles, Edelgard made me take extra lessons with Hubert. It was frightful. For you, I might unleash some unholy knowledge.

As for poor Dorothea at Ailell. Yes, you goose. She was flirting with you.

Your (laughing) friend

Mercedes

* * *

**Horsebow Moon 9, 1183**

Dear Mercedes,

How you can be so serious and yet so utterly silly is beyond me. I don’t know what to say about all the nice things you said, but—you’re the least fraudulent person I know.

I found these earrings at a Fraldarius market. I know they’re just sea glass. I couldn’t afford sapphires, but they made me think of you, and the clearness of the glass is right in its own way, somehow. The sea washed it smooth, whatever it was before, and it was shaped into something lovely. Do you even have pierced ears? I feel like I should know. And yet.

Your friend,

Ingrid.

* * *

**Horsebow Moon 10, 1183**

Mercedes,

I’ve only just sent you a letter. It’s ridiculous to write you again, but I still keep thinking about the past year, and how much brighter things have seemed now that you’re back in my life, and it keeps me up at night, because I told you I wanted to stop.

I send you presents. I talk to you about flirting. And I wanted you to stop. You have. You’ve been kind and a wonderful friend but when I said I didn’t know when people were flirting I lied a little, because I always knew you were, at the monastery. I saw the way you looked at me and it made me shake because you were open about it. Open and willing and you kept feeding me.

We spent a wonderful few weeks kissing and I never drew your fingers into my mouth the way I wanted. I wanted to suck and bite down and swallow and feel full up with you. Wanted to see your wet hand between your legs and see how you touched yourself. Watch you while your thighs shook and you tried to swallow all your sounds and you brought yourself so _close_ —I’d watch you, hear you, feel myself grow tight and aching not touch at all, just watch, until…

The fantasy changes. Sometimes, I take my time and reach out. Gently push your hand away. See you all full and red and spread out for me and I just savour that first taste as I slowly, _slowly_ learn all the things I thought about at Garreg Mach as I licked and sucked and swallowed. Sometimes, you grab me by the hair—there’s still enough to grab—and direct me. Sometimes when that happens my hands are tangled up in something, who cares what, but they’re out of the way, and you guide me until you’re dripping down my face and I can’t see or breathe, only smell and taste and _be_.

I wanted all this before I knew the words for it, and now I have them I don’t have you and I miss you, Mercedes. More every day, and I don’t think _not_ being what we were is doing any good, so can we be this? May we have this? If you still want it.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t write this early in the morning. Please tell me to never send anything like this again if you didn’t like it. I should have asked first. I should be…I don’t know what I should be, but I do wish that, whatever it is, it ends up with you.

All my love,

Ingrid.

* * *

**Horsebow Moon 10, 1183**

Dear Mercedes, 

I can't believe I wrote that. I _can't believe I wrote that._ I am so sorry! Please, if you never want to speak to me again just say that...then never speak to me again. I could go sit in the snow until I'm a statue. I'm so sorry! 

* * *

**Horsebow Moon 15, 1183**

My shy, stuttering Ingrid writes like _this_? Dearest, you’ll make an old woman expire from want, telling me secrets like that. I treasure all your letters, but that one has a special place. And is now a little worse for wear. Luckily, I’ve memorised it. It mixes prettily with my memories in the Goddess Tower, feeding you strawberries. 

I don’t know whether to spell out all the things I should do with you or whether it’ll be more fun to let you squirm a little. Because we _will_ see each other in person again, even if I have to sneak into Galatea in a haycart. Do you have use haycarts? I know it’s past harvest time, but…

See, you’ve flustered me silly.

 _‘If I still want it’_ , you say, and that is so kind of you, as if I could stop wanting. I’ve wanted you ever since I saw you come into the Monastery that first day. You punched Sylvain in the arm. You were lovely.

You are lovely. I bet you were blushing when you wrote all that. One say I’m going to sit you down and ask very nicely for you to tell me bedtime stories _just_ like that one. You’ll be good for me, won’t you? I won't wear a stitch except my lovely new earrings. 

Maybe it’ll be our own bed. Our own space. Let’s do our best to make that happen.

Love,

Mercedes.


	5. Wyvern Moon 1, 1183

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid considers her options, Dorothea sells Mercedes' cookie recipe to the empire, and things are looking grim in Fhirdiad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for gore in Dimitri's letter.

**Wyvern Moon 1, 1183**

Dearest Dorothea,

Or should I say, _General_ Dorothea? I know these titles from the Emperor are ominous signs, but you must admit that sounds splendid. Maybe operatical? You should at the very least treat yourself to a new hat. Because I am very impressed and also very kind, here is a recipe for the cookies of mine you liked so much. You are now in a select club: only Annie and my mother also know the recipe. If you’re staring at this and spluttering about how you can’t cook, then first – that is a foolish notion and anyone can cook if given half a chance – and second: you might find someone attractive to cook them for you. Their attractiveness will probably rise – just like these cookies!

This is a giddy letter, I know. Especially writing from Fhirdiad with the snows creeping back in, but right now it’s all soft fall and bright edges, and the neighbourhood children trying to build creatures that melt away before the next morning. My father hates going out in any sort of cold, so I take my time with all the errands both of us might think of. Is that sentence grammatical? I’m not sure, and I’m in too good a mood to care much, even _with_ Hubert pestering me nonstop about the new exercises he dreams up in the few minutes of sleep he must allow himself. He is a good teacher, though he’s never appreciated my suggestions that he join the School of Sorcery. He was quite rude the last time, even for him.

No promotion for me as yet. I can’t help but be relieved, though I wonder if it is because I’m still only half trusted. I know even half trust is a lot for Edelgard, but it _is_ tiresome, sometimes, feeling out of sorts with almost everyone I know. It doesn’t sting so much lately, though. Perhaps because I know I have people like you and Annie and ~~especially~~ Ingrid who love me anyway.

I hope you’re well, Dorothea. Truly. Even with all my jokes I know that the ‘officer’ part of the Officer’s Academy was never truly what either of us wanted, and I don’t think that has changed. I’m here if you need to be safely cross.

Love,

Mercedes.

~

1/3 cup + 1 tbsp of unsalted butter, cut up small and as cold as you can manage  
1 ¾ cup flour, plus extra for the working surface  
½ cup + 1 tbsp sugar, pounded in a mortar and pestle if possible (this is very good for dealing with unpleasant feelings!)   
½ tsp salt  
3 egg yolk  
1 tsp vanilla if money has been falling from the sky lately  
¾ cup your favourite jam

In a large mixing bowl, combine the cold butter, flour, powdered sugar and salt. Mix the ingredients using the palm of your hands to create a coarse, sandy sort of texture. Add in the egg yolk and vanilla if you have it, and mix until the dough comes together into a smooth ball (do not over-knead. This isn’t bread.) Cover and chill for at least two hours.

After two hours, prepare two baking sheets and a moderate oven.

Transfer the dough from your coolroom onto a floured working surface. Pinch your thumb and forefinger as close as you can together without anything touching. See the tiny gap? Roll out your dough until it is that thickness. Using a 2.5-inch cookie cutter (or a small, clean glass!) cut out 24 cookie circles. Using a 1-inch cookie cutter (or a very tiny – but still clean! – glass), cut a hole out of the centre of half of the cookie circles.

Transfer the cookie circles (with no hole in the centre) onto a baking sheet and the other half (with the holes) onto the other baking sheet. Bake the first batch (cookies with no holes – the “bottoms”) for 11-12 minutes, until the rims are just slightly golden. Transfer immediately to a cooling rack. Bake the second batch (cookies with holes – the “tops”) for 8-9 minutes.

Once the cookies are at room temperature, place 1 tablespoon of jam at the centre of each cookie bottom. Dust the cookie tops with powdered sugar and place them on top of the jam, to close off the cookie sandwich.

Can be kept up to 4 days in a container, but probably won’t.

* * *

**Red Wolf Moon 6, 1183**

Dear Mercedes,

I don’t know why I haven’t visited yet. You should despise me for a coward by now. We keep writing to each other and you’re a day’s ride away. A day’s ride that I make often for Dimitri’s council meetings. I see _Annette_ regularly, and it’s impossible to see her and not think of you. (She’s spending an awful lot of time in Fraldarius – did you know? I wonder if something’s brewing there.)

I know I can just ride into the city, fast as Judith will take me, and I’d follow the streets to find the address you’ve scrawled on your letters, and I’d find you. You’re not a maiden in a tower, with a thorn maze to guard you. Neither am I. But if you did make it to Daphnel, in that haycart or by more civilised means, I don’t think I could you go, and if I found you at your father’s shop I don’t think I could stop myself from begging and I don’t think that’s much good for either of us. Also, I’d probably punch your adopted father.

You also haven’t asked me directly. Is it because you know I’m a coward? Or do you feel like I do—that seeing each other will make the world all fly apart and there’s no way of knowing what it’ll all look like when it comes back together? That might make us both cowards, and it’s nice not being alone.

This letter makes no sense. I’m sorry.

Love,

Ingrid

* * *

**Red Wolf Moon 23, 1183**

Dearest,

Your nonsense is much more sensible than most people’s, which is, now I see that all written out, a very _Ingrid_ thing and I like it very much. You’re certainly no more a coward than I am. It is a scary thing, making changes, and you’re right: seeing each other does change things. For the better, I think, but you are allowed to take all the time you need for it.

I admit, the idea of you striding into the house in riding gear and punching my father is very tempting, though that’s very bad of me, I know. I’d be sure to thank you properly. Also, I think begging can be _very_ good, under specific circumstances. Do try not to sell yourself short.

As for Annie and Felix – your guess is probably better than mine. I am hopeless at reading Annie on this one topic (which I’ve gotten in trouble for in the past!) and so I don’t try. And I’m sure Felix would rather eat nails than admit to anything, so our gossip shall remain all sad and speculative.

I miss you, too. Whenever I hear there’s a meeting in Fhirdiad, or when I see the Church of Seiros being more active than usual, which is a precursor to many important gatherings, lately, or so I’ve heard, I look out for you in crowds. I know _planning_ a meeting is hard, right now, but I believe in the same place I keep the rest of my faith that we might still come across each other by accident. Just two women in a cold city. I’d feed you, of course.

Your Mercedes

P.S:

How did I not know your horse is named for the Hero of Daphnel? I wonder if Judith-the-person shall ever find out! -M.

* * *

**Ethereal Moon 2, 1183**

~~Dear Mercedes,~~

~~It’s lovely you’d give me time, but what _do you_ want? Why is answering that always so hard for you? ~~

* * *

**Ethereal Moon 12, 1183**

Dear Mercedes

Ugh, do stop it. You’re in love and it’s quite disgusting. I did find myself a new hat, thank you, and I’m afraid that your recipe asks far too much of me and so I’ve sold it on to the Empire. Well, to Edie’s cook, which is about the same thing. Your select club may be ruined, but that’s what you get for writing whimsically about _snow_. Honestly. If you’d ever spent a night in it you wouldn’t do anything half so daft.

Is it true the Church of Seiros is growing its ranks in Fhirdiad? No, don’t answer that, I know you won’t. But we’re hearing so many stories in Enbarr that it’s hard to keep track. Edie was gone a whole week searching for the professor, Hubie in mournful tow. She keeps insisting that she’ll at least find a body. It’s the dreariest business. Meanwhile, His Grace von Aegir is exactly as you’d expect, a few years into the Dukedom, and Brigid is writing anxiously to her Grandfather.

Lysithea’s still with us, too, of course. She joined Black Eagles even before you, and I still don’t know if Hubert is delighted or horrified over the situation. He’s jealous of _me_ for taking up Edie’s attention for the occasional opera, but the Emperor and Lysithea are two little white buttons on the same gown. I swear Edie feels protective, which is unsettling for everyone. The genius mage just left Ordelia for Enbarr—Claude’s being over-complicated, she says. Hardly surprising. 

You should come to us, too, Mercedes! Get out of all that snow, and get back to foolishly changing the world. Bring Ingrid! Surely you can persuade her. If I had your tits, I’d have have the empire in the palm of my hand right now.

Dorothea.

PS. No, that was not the reference you thought it was. Stop laughing!

* * *

**Harpstring Moon 27, 1184**

~~Dear Father,~~ ~~~~

~~Do you remember when I used to write you letters for practice? You’d give me old paperwork that only had writing on one side and I’d tell you all the things you already knew – about Sylvain and Dimitri and Felix and Glenn; about all their horses; the barn cats. You once put up with me writing out Loog’s creation of the empire as if you’d never heard of it before. Thank you for that.~~ ~~~~

~~You know I have always wanted the best for both of us. That’s a stolid, stilted way of saying it, but I know how much you’ve gone without for my sake, and I would do anything to see you comfortable. I’ve always said so, and always meant it, but I don’t know if marrying my Crest into a wealthy family is as possible as it once was, and that makes me feel so small. You’ve let me refuse so many, but would you let me choose the one I want?~~ ~~~~

~~I’ve not spoken much about my friend Mercedes. She was in my house – I think I told you that much. A healer; stronger in white magic than most people at the Academy, except perhaps for Lysithia von Ordelia, who is pretty terrifying. Mercedes would love you, because she would see immediately how much you love me. I know we don’t talk about this sort of thing—hellish awkward, isn’t it?—but Mercedes makes it easier. She would love you, and she’d probably run an orphanage on Galatea land, and make sure no one’s knees ached for ten miles and she has a powerful crest and is of all the good family you could want, and that doesn’t mean anything because she hasn’t any more riches than us, and that…I hate that, Da. She would bring so much _wealth_ to Galatea and no one can eat off any of it, which means I’d be selfish to come to you and say that I’ve found someone I’d build a life with. Someone who’d never expect me to disappear. It’d be so selfish to tell you that, let alone let you see my face as I told it, because you’ve always read me so well when we’re in the same room, and you’ve always wanted the best for me. And she’s it. ~~ ~~~~

~~But I promised you’d never go hungry in my place again~~ ~~.~~ **[blot]**

What on earth am I doing? 

* * *

**Ethereal Moon 12, 1184**

Dear Glenn

You’re all so blasted loud.

Ingrid used to write to you, after you died. I saw her at it more than once and she’d hate it if I knew, but it was a small secret to keep and perhaps she was on to something.

We’re close, Glenn. In half a year, perhaps earlier, we can start on Enbarr. Lady Rhea’s support is sometimes frustrating, but it is powerful. She understands no Goddess could forgive me, and so doesn’t talk of that, or anything else except moving forward. We will take territory. Take Edelgard’s traitorous, murdering head so that the rest of you can sleep. You. Father. Patricia. Even the siblings people whisper of—the ones _she_ must have killed as she crawled up to her father’s place. All Dedue’s family. I will avenge you all. Perhaps then, I’ll be allowed food that tastes of more than ash. Maybe then, I can sleep, instead of keeping Dedue up with pacing. I don’t know why he bothers fretting for someone like me. Cornelia is building machines of war in Arianrhod. Rodrigue reminds me when to breathe.

May I tell you a secret? You were always good at those, whether they Felix crying or Sylvain’s fear of spiders or that time I destroyed the wall in your father’s stables when my Crest first activated. You always made sure Ingrid had second helpings at dinner, and you never let on how important you knew that was.

I do not feel like a King. I shouldn’t, not with all of you behind me, not crowned in haste with Garreg Mach a smoking ruin behind us. She destroyed that, too. She can leave nothing untouched.

But I cannot _say_ that I am only a smudged and poor copy of kingship. Not to Dedue, nor Gilbert, especially not your father. Felix will say it, of course, but he’s the only one who smells the dead on me, and has cried too foul for too long. Rufus says nothing, but his silence has always told stories.

You were the first death, Glenn. You stood between my father and slaughter. I still see you—organs spilling, skin split and peeling, scream choked out while I was the same helpless child that you used to help up trees. As useful to you all as a paper helmet in hell. So much regret on your face, at the end.

I’ve carried it so long. Your regret. Father’s rage. Patricia—how must it feel, knowing her own _daughter_ was complicit in her death? I still can’t fathom that, and I know it makes me weaker than I ought. I must _know_ her. Know every filthy, warped corner of her heart and mind, so that that she can be destroyed utterly.

You never laughed at me, when I gave away a dagger. You were kind. And brave. And dead. I can’t be kind any more, and there’s no bravery in what I must do. Only repentance. I have seen the monster in Lady Rhea and I will use it to burn. I will live that long.

Dimitri.

* * *

**Ethereal Moon 18, 1184**

Dear Ashe,

Please tell me if you’re all right? You don’t need to go into any specifics, but I don’t think things are all that well in the city, and it frightens me. People are whispering. I would appreciate knowing you are well. I’m still keeping an eye on your siblings, and always will. Your sister has been very helpful at the shop. I make sure she’s nowhere near father.

Love,

Mercie.

* * *

**Ethereal Moon 18, 1184**

Dear Sylvain,

Sylvain, be a dear and tell me if you and Felix are about to do anything rash, won’t you? I’m not asking for state secrets, only that two of my favourite people are safe.

Love,

Mercie.

* * *

**Ethereal Moon 18, 1184**

Dearest Annie,

I saw Ingrid! She visited! And it was wonderful, except—oh, Annie, she looked _awful._ What are you all doing? I know you can’t really tell me, but please remember where I am if you need a soft place for a while. Something is happening. I hope it’s not too frightening. I hope I’m just looking at everything with too-wide eyes, and I’m making a big fuss out of nothing, but between Ingrid’s visit and all the extra patrols, and the ballistae all coming out of storage, one has to wonder. I’m terrified of leaving you all. I haven’t been called up, but it feels as if we’re all running out of time.

All my love,

Mercie.

* * *

**Ethereal Moon 18, 1184**

Dear Ingrid,

Darling, you left in such a state that I want you write as soon as you get this, just to let me know that you’re all right. Silly of me, but please do it, if you can?

We’ve written about surprise meetings, but I didn’t think to see you looking so wan at my door. Thank you for coming, for letting me hold you after what must have been a terrible day. I know you won’t tell me about any of the meetings you have at the palace, and that’s good and right, but, dear heart, _no one_ should make you look like that. Not even kings. I wish I could go right in there and tell Dimitri off just the way you did Felix when he lashed out at me. I know that a part of that young man is still a stammering, clumsy-handed boy who breaks sewing needles, and I _will not_ have him be cruel. Not to you. Not to any of our friends, or anyone at all, but especially not you. And demanding you carry out actions that make you sick _is_ cruelty, Ingrid. I know it’s hard to think about, but remember that the best soldiers refuse unjust orders.

Listen to me, preaching sedition. This is terrible. But we couldn’t speak at all when you were here, could we? If I close my eyes and keep nice and still, I still feel you. The beautiful, solid weight of you. Your hands at my face. I think I managed to kiss every callous, which has long been a goal of mine, you know.

We couldn’t have had more than thirty minutes—a _scrap_ of time, less than half one of our old classes! We’ve lingered longer at table! –but I will treasure it forever, because you came to me when you didn’t have to. When you probably shouldn’t. Thank you for getting my shirt all wet. Shoulders are meant for tears. Don’t ever be ashamed of it. I was a watering pot too, you might remember. And you kissed my tears away. _That_ will be a late night memory, I think.

You are much better at turning want into words on paper, so you’re just going to have to be very forgiving and imaginative for me, once you feel better. I adore you to pieces, and get through most days hoping that the next one will be better. I’ll hope for you, too, on days when you find it hard.

Your Mercie.

* * *

**Guardian Moon 1, 1185**

Dear Mercedes

I’m fine. Of course I’m fine. I have to be, and you did help, after all. You were remarkable. And if I hadn’t been such a mess I’d have tried to bottle that look of surprise on your face for a special occasion. You were so shocked.

I don’t know if even you could get through Dimitri’s skull these days. I love him, but he’s in the sort of dark you can’t shout your way out of, and I have no blasted idea what to make of it. I’ve been…thinking, about things. Even before your letter. All while the snows come down and make correspondence such an awkward, halting mess of missed post dates and far too long waiting for replies. 

You’ve never asked me if I’d join your side, and I am grateful for that, but Galatea has little chance if the Empire decides to burn its way across the map, and it’s growing harder and harder to imagine that Fhirdiad can put out any fires. I feel so ashamed, writing that. Disloyal and small. But I might introduce you to father, then, if you’d still have me. I might be able to negotiate with Edelgard—or ask you to help me negotiate with Edelgard. Pretending I have any skill in that sort of thing is farce—and find a place where Galatea’s people can be safe and fed. Felix is arguing with his father about Fraldarisus’s stake in any war. And Dimitri is…not himself. Or perhaps this _is_ Dimitri and the kind boy was a desperate lie? I don’t know, Mercedes. I just don’t want this sick feeling anymore. I want to believe in the world you’ve sketched. In the sort of battles the professor led, where people miraculously stayed safe.

You’ve never asked me, and I still don’t know how I’d answer, but I do know how I feel about you.

Love,

Ingrid. 

* * *

**Lone Wolf Moon 10, 1185**

Mercedes,

The Black Eagles Strike Force are en route to Garreg Mach. Her Majesty wishes us to keep the old millennium promise. Join us. Preferably sooner than your earliest convenience.

In haste,

Hubert.

* * *

**Lone Wolf Moon 18, 1185**

To Ingrid Brandl Galatea

You’re too late, young miss. Not sure what you’re saying, but Mercedes isn’t here. Got a letter before yours and headed out with barely a by-your-leave. If you’re better at gratitude than my fool of a daughter than you’ll kindly send postage, plus extra so I don’t leave copies of this letter about the place. Not sure about what _all_ it’s saying, but most of it looks like it’ll get a good Faerghan girl in trouble. Never should have sent the chit to the Academy, if messing around with other girls is all that came out of it.

Yours, etc

—son. Fhirdiad.

* * *

**Lone Wolf Moon 18, 1185**

To Ingrid,

General Galatea,

Your orders are attached. You are expected at Arianrhod by 7 Harpstring Moon.

Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! This has been a journey. There are two, possibly three, more chapters to go in this arc, but they'll coincide with the final (and less epistolary) arc of this story, that'll soon be published here as a new work. Keep an eye out for _Victory Feasts_ in the next couple of weeks. Also, Mercie's cookie recipe is a good one and you should try it! A 'moderate oven' translates back into 340ishF/180C.


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